Who Do You Think You Are?
by Wayward Orphan
Summary: When an accident leaves Steve without his memory, will Clint be able to pick up the pieces? Clint/Steve, rated T for safety
1. The Accident

_Author's Note: This is my first uploaded story here! I've not really read many Avengers stories because I've been too obsessed with other shows, so I'm sorry if this has been done before, but I thought that even if it has every story ends up different.  
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_Also, I am going to try my best with updates. In the upcoming weeks I have exams, so I may be slow, but once summer hits I'll have nothing to do but write, so... I just wanted to throw this out here to get some opinions on it and get my feelers out there, so enjoy, I guess?_

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**Chapter One: The Accident**

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_Fire_.

His lungs were on fire, yet everything around him seemed so cold. The man's vision was blurred and all sound seemed to stop even as his crazy surroundings didn't. Explosions and gunfire surrounded him, screams for help and cries of pain, but nothing registered. Everything was just a black, empty void. A moment later, his senses returned and he saw a flash of light coming towards him. He heard someone scream his name, asking if he was okay, but there were two of everything and sound was delayed, lagging, as he tried to register it completely. All of a sudden, it was all gone.

There were more screams as Captain America fell to the ground with a loud thud. People watched, some from nearby buildings and others from their TV screens, as he collapsed mid-war. His shield flew from his hand as he hit the asphalt and it crashed rather loudly into the brick building nearby. It was Clint's turn to have his world freeze. All the clamor stopped and even his heart seemed to come to a halt in its beating."Steve!" he yelled, one hand reaching out for his fallen friend. There was blood - a lot of it - and Clint's heart sank.

Running, he quickly made his way over to the captain. "Steve," he tried again, but there was no answer. He heard Tony in his ear asking if Steve was okay, but he was on too much of an adrenaline high to think well enough to respond. Steve was fine. He had to be - Steve was _always_ fine. He'd been through worse before. Hearing his name again, Clint finally responded. "There's... blood and he's _out_. I need to get him to a medic."

"_We can handle this_," Natasha chimed in through the comm. "_Get Steve to safety and we'll hold them off_." For a moment, Clint doubted her. Steve was nearly dead, but they could handle this? Without Cap, their functioning as a team was a hell of a lot more difficult. Not to mention the fact that their strongest member had already fallen. What if they _couldn't_ handle it? What if they weren't strong enough? But now wasn't the time to think like that. If ever there were a time to think positively, this was it. Steve became more important to him every day and he wasn't prepared to lose that, so with a nod to the others, even though he doubted they could see, he lifted his comrade and started dragging him towards the hospital as quick as he could.

It didn't take long to get there and Steve was taken to the ER almost immediately. Clint only stayed long enough to watch him get on the table. With that, he took back off to get his revenge on the thing that had nearly killed Steve. The rest of the battle went rather quickly, though for Clint it seemed to drag on. Tony got out with minor injures, Thor was fine, Bruce would heal fast, and Natasha would have a few bruises. As for Clint, he had a majorly broken heart that wouldn't heal anytime soon. He left everyone in the dust once the OK was given by Fury to go see Steve.

All he wanted was to see his friend and he'd be damned if he'd let anything stop him. They all understood, thankfully. Steve and Clint had become best friends in recent months, almost inseparable. It was obvious that Clint would go off to protect one of the few good things he still had. Anyone in their right mind would. Unfortunately for Clint, Steve was still in surgery when he got there. Instead, he took some time to go home, shower, and get into some comfortable clothes before going back.

Barton still sat in the waiting room for what felt like - and probably was - hours before Steve was out, though. When he saw the blond being wheeled out of surgery, he was asleep and that left Clint's stomach turning uncomfortably, because _what if Steve didn't wake up again_? It would all be his fault. Wringing his hands together, Clint followed a step behind the nurse to Steve's room and he fell asleep at Captain America's bedside that night. Maybe he was scared of losing him, maybe he was just attached, but he wasn't going to leave Steve alone.

Even when Clint woke up Steve was still out cold. He sighed as he examined the white room, eyes eventually falling on a figure in the corner. "I talked to the doctors," the man said and Clint knew that voice. "There's brain damage. They said it wouldn't be a surprise if he woke up not remembering everything. Be patient with him." But all Clint could focus on were the words 'brain damage.' _How much damage_? He felt horrible about this. Rogers was hurt because of him - and did Bruce just say something about amnesia? There was an inaudible, guilty sigh from Clint.

"What all will he remember?" Clint asked, but Bruce just shook his head in reply. That wasn't a good sign at all.

"I honestly don't know, but the damage looks pretty extensive." Clint's heart stopped with that. _Steve might not remember me. All this work getting him to like me - for **this**_? "I'm sorry." But they both knew that wasn't enough. This wasn't fixable. An apology couldn't bring Steve back. Words in general couldn't do much and in some ways words were worse than any torture someone could come up with. Because words were just words, they didn't mean anything. Clint looked up from Steve and offered Bruce a smile in appreciation, but it didn't mean anything either. It was just another thing that couldn't bring Steve back.

"Don't," Clint said. "He'll be fine." But they both knew he didn't really believe that. They both knew Clint was falling apart. "There's nothing to be sorry about." He looked back down to Steve, his hand subconsciously finding his soldier's, and he whispered into the air, "You'll be fine, Steve," as if he was trying to convince himself of it. Bruce took that moment to leave the two alone, give them some privacy.

But Clint didn't want to be alone. Because with Bruce there, he had motivation not to cry. If it was just him and a sleeping cripple, he was more likely to break down. And break down he did, hand grasping at Steve's for life as he tried to get a handle on things. Just when life started getting good, SHIELD got in the way. They were so close and now this. 'Upset' didn't really begin to cover how Clint felt, didn't even touch the surface.

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Everything was hectic, as if all hell had broken loose, and Steve was getting lost in the battle. But it was all a blur. He saw everything in brief flashes, barely heard a syllable here and there. Everything was foggy, hard to make out. The voices, the noises, the faces... They should have been familiar, but they felt like distant, forgotten memories. Who_ were_ those people and why was he on a battlefield? There was another explosion followed by a scream and then -_ pain_. Steve jolted awake.

The scream had been his, if the speeding EKG was no indication. He was alone in a dark room and he made a mental note that he didn't know how he got there, or even where 'there' was. In a matter of seconds, nurses were rushing in there, checking monitors and his pulse. They certainly didn't care about personal space. One of them - a man, seemed to know him - was talking, but no sound was registering. Everything was blank.

Steve stared awkwardly, mouth agape, as he tried to ignore the heart pounding away at his chest as if it were about to explode. His breaths were shaky, lips quivering, and eyes searching for something, anything to tell him where he was. But he had no clue. A high pitched ringing made its way to his ears and following that, his brain started tuning into the voices around them, hard as they were to make out.

"-eart rate elev... may need to... agai... don't f..." The blond stared up at Bruce as he tried to figure out what was going on. The doctor looked back at him with a small smile. "Do you know where you are?" After a moment of trying to register the question, Steve shook his head. The other man's expression seemed to worsen. "Do you know... _who_ you are?" And Steve offered the same response.

"No sir. I don't... I don't remember."


	2. The Relapse

_Author's Note: I'm back! Thanks for the support. :3 I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint.  
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_My next update might take a little more than a week, so sorry, but I started exams this week and school's a bitch, so... I can guarantee you that I will write whenever I can, though!_

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**Chapter 2: The Relapse**

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Clint let out a disgruntled scream as he hit the punching bag. His fists were bleeding by now, given the fact that he hadn't wrapped his hands up or anything for protection. Of course, punching bags were more Steve's thing. Clint would normally just sit on the benches and watch. With all that had happened the past few days, however, he needed something to let the anger out and this always seemed to work for Steve. He found that, yes, it actually was effective.

The archer growled again in frustration, hitting the bag harder. There was a crack, probably from his hand, but he ignored it. The pain wasn't enough. He had one job and he screwed it up. Protect Steve, help save the world. Well, he didn't manage that did he? Everyone kept telling him not to blame himself, but how could it have been anyone else's fault? Clint was the one who had promised he'd protect Steve and already that had gone to Hell.

Could he do _anything _right? First, he ran off with Loki, and now he was watching his best friend forget the life they'd built. He had helped Cap adjust to the land of the living and for what? There was more blood as he threw another punch, face distorted in agony. He didn't care. He couldn't care. All caring did was make him hurt. "Clint," a voice called from behind him. He didn't react, just kept punching. "Clint," it came again, stronger this time.

Closing his eyes, Clint stopped pounding on the bag and turned to the other. "_What_?" he asked, half-lifting his arms in questioning before letting them drop back to his sides in frustration. "What can you possibly have to say to me to make this okay, or make this better? You can't fix this," _you can't fix me_, "so go away."

Bruce sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. "It isn't on you," the doctor said, as if he were reading Clint's mind. Clint only scoffed in response. "We can talk about this, might make you feel better." Broken and bloody as they were, Clint's hands clenched by his sides as he stepped forward.

"Make me _feel_ better?" Clint practically spat, words venomous. "I don't _want_ to feel. All I _feel_ is the - the _pain_ and the _guilt. _You think you can fix that? Think again." He started to walk past the doctor, only to feel a hand on his wrist. He tensed and tried to pull away, with no luck.

"You don't need to shoulder this alone, Clint. We're here and we're just as responsible." _Just as responsible, yeah right. None of you promised he'd be okay. None of you_ – "Clint, cut that out. Talk to me." But he didn't. Clint's jaw just clenched and his nails dug further into his palms. He didn't need to talk about it – any of it.

There was an uncomfortable, deathly, tense silence for what felt like hours before Bruce finally let go. "I'm going to go check on Steve," Clint mumbled between clenched teeth. And he did. Clint walked right on out of the gym and out the building, bloodied hands as they were, and didn't stop until he got to the hospital. More specifically, Steve's room.

Clint hovered in the doorway, eyes set on his friend. The blond didn't notice him for a minute, but offered a friendly smile when he did. "Hey," he said as if things were normal. As if he remembered Clint, or at least part of him did. But he didn't and Clint knew that, so there was a slightly depressing undertone as he stepped into the room.

"Hey," he shot back, taking the seat by Steve's side. "I'm Clint Barton and you're my best friend," he said slightly teasingly, though there was a bitter taste in his mouth that made him want to curl up and die.

"Hi, Clint," Steve said with a nod and another smile, and that smile was one that always had Clint weak in the knees. "Sorry I can't really… you know, remember you all that well." That killed the momentary buzz and had Clint squirming.

He managed a half-forced smile. "It's not your fault," _but mine_, "You'll get better." Despite the confidence he displayed, Clint didn't really believe that at all. How was this supposed to get better? How was he supposed to help Steve get his memory back? How was any of this supposed to end up in the past, if he couldn't get over any of it? How were they supposed to cope?

Neither man spoke for a while, just stared at each other in an awkward silence as they tried to figure out what to say or do. Steve didn't know for obvious reasons, but Clint wasn't helping. It was like he couldn't stand being around Steve anymore. Like whatever bond they had was gone. Like it never meant a thing.

"You remember… anything?" Clint finally asked and Steve froze with a thoughtful expression on his face.

"I don't even remember what I had for breakfast this morning," he joked, though the archer was far from amused. "I'm sorry, that was bad…" And Clint would be totally convinced Steve had spent too much time with Tony if the circumstances were any different.

Clint looked disgruntled for a minute and Steve seemed to catch on, but neither said anything for a few minutes. It was just them surrounded by a half-awkward silence. What were they supposed to say, exactly? Neither of them had conversation starters lying around in the recesses of their mind.

"You hate me right now, don't you?" Steve finally said. The question killed Clint and he shook his head without hesitation, hand instinctively going to grab Steve's before he thought better of it and put it back in his lap.

"I don't hate you. And this isn't your fault." He couldn't elaborate, didn't want to. This wasn't something he wanted to talk about. So instead, he stood, offered Steve a small smile, and turned to walk out. "I'll make you better, I promise…" He didn't know how. He wasn't a doctor, he wasn't used to things like this. But Steve was important and he was determined to make things right.

Really, he was the one without superpowers. If anyone was going to get hurt, it should have been him. At least then he wouldn't have to watch his best friend suffer. Clint tried to smile as he walked away, but it came out mangled and too forced. It wasn't working. That was unusual. Being a SHIELD agent meant undercover work and that meant being able to hide who you are and what you're feeling.

Never had it been more difficult for him than in that moment.

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Clint shoved his cut up and bloodstained hands deeper into his pockets, hiding his face with the hood of his jacket. _Stupid people, stupid doctors, stupid Bruce. This is all so stupid!_ He clenched his teeth as he walked, eyes set on the ground and not even looking up when he accidentally ran in to someone. Not even looking up when he got the "Hey, watch it, man"s. It wasn't important. Important was trying to find a way to fix Steve and he had no clue how he was going to do that.

How do you fix something, or someone, you never even meant to break? Clint felt so lost and the one person he could talk to wasn't there anymore. Like it or not, Steve was gone. He could try to bring him back, but Captain America would never be the same guy again. It physically hurt Clint to think about it and he was disgusted with himself that he let it get that far. He should've done more to protect Steve, should have been more careful, should've - should have what? He did everything as best he knew how. What could he - would he - have done differently?

This was always how things were going to end and that only made things worse. Clint didn't need worse. Things were bad enough, but the universe just seemed to be against him. Ever since Thor came down things only seemed to go downhill. He wasn't sure if it was aliens, or bad luck, or what, but he didn't like it. Things just needed to get back to normal. His best friend needed not to be dying. He wanted to be happy again.

Despite it being the middle of the day, the archer found himself slipping into the nearest bar, sitting down near the bartender, and asking for a shot. The place was never busy around this time, most weren't even open. Clint didn't care. He just needed an escape and this was the simplest way to get one. He didn't care if he was tearing himself apart.

He needed to escape the pain.


End file.
